


If The Avengers Are The Beatles, We're, Uh, Not That?

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brock Rumlow's midlife crisis, F/M, Fluff and Crack, HYDRA schisms, He wears scarves for no reason now, Jack Rollins is basically the band manager for super villains, Okay its mostly past Brock/Darcy, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Very influenced by Frank Grillo's Antagonist in Wolf Warrior 2, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, White Tigers, Why are there just random snakes?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Jack Rollins finds out that post-HYDRA life is, well, less fun than he anticipated. Or, the crack fic where Jack Rollins is basically the band manager for a bunch of unhinged super villains. It's like herding cats. And there's a literal cat.





	1. Snakes On A Plane

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

“Uh, Brock?” Jack asked.

“Yeah?” Brock said, looking up from where he was feeding one of the snakes he kept in the tank. Jack shuddered. Growing up in Australia, he’d earned a healthy fear of wildlife. Fully 78% of Australian wildlife would kill you dead, given the opportunity. There was no bloody need to keep them in your secret West African warehouse _as pets_. Bloody hell.

“I’ve, uh, got news, about Darcy?” Jack said. Brock went still. Jack inhaled and counted to ten. Across the room, Wanda Maximoff glared at Jack.

“Wanda, will you give us a minute?” Brock said. Wanda replied in Sokovian and stalked out, giving Jack the evil eye as she twisted those silver rings she wore.

“What has she got against me anyhow?” Jack wondered aloud. “I’ve tried to talk to the sheila about jewelry, pleasant things--” Jack liked a good Navajo silver. Getting to wear his regular clobber and gear was one of the few bright spots of his post-SHIELDRA phase.

“She knows how you feel about recent events,” Brock said.

“Oh,” Jack said. “Well...”

 

Brock blamed them all--Fury, SHIELD, Cap--for the loss of his relationship with Darcy in the wake of the failed Uprising. In drunken, inchoate conversations in sketchy bars all over the globe, he’d ranted to Jack. He believed he would’ve been able to convince Darcy to leave with him, had he not been laid low by his burns. The burns were the fault of Sam Wilson, who’d delayed him, and Steve Rogers, who’d sabotaged Insight and sent the helicarriers careening into the Triskelion. All the Avengers, those ostensible do-gooders, were just as bloody and grotesque as anything Alexander Pierce had dreamed up in his most homicidal fever-dream. Ever. Combined, they made Pierce look like a probie agent.

Brock on Tony: “A drunken, selfish philander with a sideline in warmongering and bombing, Jack.” He would nod.

Natasha: “She’s a fucking cold-blooded murderess.” In response, Jack would nod again.

Clint: “Basically, a junior Natasha with shitty Robin Hood weapons and the style of a goddamn country singer. Woo-fucking-hoo, it’s Legolas Toby Keith, here to save the world!” Jack grinned at that one. “You see it, right? Fucking no sleeves. Totally forgettable. You could kick him outta SHIELD, it’d take seven months for anybody to notice but the vents, man,” Brock would say in a woozy voice.

Steve: “You ever notice how that smug, hypocritical bastard touts his WWII service while ignoring that his generation was a bunch of sexist, segregationist bastards who nuked half of Japan and set the stage for the Cold War while lynching black children for looking at white women, Jackie? He’s the same goddamned age as that bastard, whatshisface, the mummy senator who was KKK in his thirties. Storm Drummond?”

“Strom Thurmond, Brock.”

  
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one. That’s Cap’s fucking peer, right there. Racist Cracker Imhotep. The greatest generation, my fucking ass.”

“Yes, boss.”

The Hulk: “He’s fucking green. I could beat a green guy. I have guns. But you know his big ugly toenails have killed more people than me, Jack. You know.”

Thor: “I mean, shit, he’s murdered thousands personally in his fifteen hundred years of life, he’s a literal goddamn despot-in-training with a gold throne like Saddam fucking Hussein, but I’m the bad guy? _Me_? You fucking know we did the minimum, Jackie, the goddamn minimum, of loss of life. I killed more people with fucking Avengers than not, man. With them. Legitimate SHIELD missions. I’m a goddamned Boy Scout compared to any of ‘em. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

This was usually the point in the drinking binge monologue where Brock passed out, face down on a grimy table, many, many glasses in. Whenever Jack hustled him out, he would rouse and seethe. “They were whispering in her ears, all of ‘em, turning her against me. Snakes, whispering. Snakes in the grass poisoning her against me...snakes...”

“Yeah?” Jack would say. Politely. You didn’t argue with Brock when he was three sheets to the wind and ranting, if you wanted to live. He’d stabbed that guy in the bar in Myanmar who’d told him to get over his ex, oh, five times before Jack had been able to separate them. And that was so drunk he could barely stand.

“I miss my girl, Jackie. I’m going to make them pay. This isn’t about HYDRA anymore,” he’d vowed. Repeatedly.

Then Brock had gone off and fucked anything that moved, plus one thing that didn’t. It was some sort of Chitauri sex plant person, once owned by that weird ratbag called the Collector. It had consented to the sex, apparently, but it--uh--was rather stationary, personally. The less said, the better. But Jack could handle all that. That was in the realm of the expected, roughly. He didn’t expect what happened next.

 

First, Brock had started a minor HYDRA schism, hijacking some of Ward and Garrett’s tech supplies for fun and Jack had to ask Malick to intervene and smooth the ruffled feathers. Brock had refused to make any effort himself. Instead, he told Ward to go fuck himself and arranged for someone to change all the photos in Hale’s office to ones of his (present, scarred, traumatizing) face. He’d anonymously uploaded unflattering footage of Senator Stern combing his hair before a Congressional hearing to YouTube. It was petty. It was stupid. But it was only the first salvo in Brock’s ongoing midlife crisis.

 

The second salvo was raiding von Strucker’s  fortress--alone!-- and freeing those Wonder Twins of his, just for shits and giggles. He’d given them a million a piece and told them to go bother Tony Stark. He’d almost stolen Loki’s Scepter and only evaded capture because the girl half of the Wonder Twins had taken pity on him and managed to whisk him out of there.  It didn’t help that that Wanda had managed to show up at each of their mercenary hideouts, making sweet eyes at Brock and muttering things in Sokovian that sounded suspiciously like curses on Darcy Lewis. Jack didn’t think she done anything at all to Tony Stark. The boy Wonder Twin had apparently been content with stealing a lot of Stark’s toys: Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Porsches, stray supermodels he’d left about.

 

Third, Brock and the Wonder Twins had made Helen Cho fix up his burns with her Cradle. At gunpoint. That was all right, Jack guessed. But he’d gone off on a mad bender when Darcy still wouldn’t return his calls and sent his gifts back with a note about “oblivious murdering Nazi fuckwits and their fuckwittage.” It had been a time drying him out, once they found him in that underground Mexican fighting ring. Jack was seriously checking on the price of black market livers there for a fortnight.

 

Then Brock had started _collecting_ snakes. Big ones. He used them to frighten the victims of his robberies and thefts--one bank manager had actually urinated all over himself when Brock walked into a bank in Alberta in his Crossbones gear with a boa constrictor draped over his shoulders. Eventually, he branched into using their venom to make experimental poisons and toxins. He was most recently fixated on a Nigerian biochemical that could be fused with Bolivian snake venom. He wanted to steal it and hybridize it for...reasons? Expensive reasons. He kept breaking the lab equipment when it didn’t work and demanding that Jack kidnap toxicologists who understood the science. Jack found it all befuddling. He had difficulty following Brock’s logic now. Taking over the world, that he understood. Working for HYDRA within SHIELD? Sure. The end goal posts were clear.

 

But moving around the world, stealing poisons and gold and Chitauri weaponry for no other discernible reason than to drink a lot, wander about neck-stabbing people, and play with your snakes? You could do that in Paraburdoo on the cheap and the scenery was better. Christmas would at least be warm, Jack had told his mother in Kurrajong on their last phone call. This was the most bizarre version of mission creep he’d ever experienced. Brock kept sending him out to buy keffiyehs, too. Jack would come back with a box of scarves and a fresh set of camo blazers--another strange new fixation of Brock’s--to discover he’d killed their current client. Clients were getting rather thin on the ground. Jack had begun to fret he himself would reach the unhireable stage soon enough. Toxic resumes were a thing, even in the criminal underworld. Ulysses Klaue had cut him dead at that black market deal last week, Aldrich Killian wasn’t returning his emails, and he hadn’t even been invited to Justin Hammer’s “White Collar Crime” themed all-white birthday party in Monaco. Even _the Mandarin_ had been invited to that--the photos were on Instagram. He wasn’t even a real bloody criminal!

 

He’d also had difficulty hiring new mercenaries to fill the team when it was bloody _Snakes On A Plane_ if you traveled with Crossbones. He’d had to increase salaries by thirty percent after those Hungarian mercs got bit by Brock’s favorite cobra en route to Manila. Just thinking about it made Jack tired. It was like having a sleep-deprived toddler with access to landmines. Maybe Jack could go back to New York, see if any of the gangs were hiring, rehabilitate his image. Would Anatoly and Vladimir help him out….

 

“Well?” Brock said, pulling Jack back to the present moment. Jack repressed a sigh.

“It, uh, appears she’s dating some new fella,” Jack said. It was his job to monitor Darcy’s social media. He’d taken the job away from Brock because Brock cried and drank too much.

“Who?” Brock said. “Cap? It’s Cap, isn’t it? Fucking fuck--”

“It’s not, it’s not,” Jack said, swallowing.

“It better not be Circus Barton. He has a wife!” Brock said heatedly.

“It’s uh, some engineering fella.”

“A fucking engineer, Jack? A normal?” He looked stunned.

“Well, not exactly…”

“What’s the fucker’s name?” Brock demanded.

“Scott Lang?” Jack said doubtfully, hoping Brock wouldn’t recognize the name. To his deep regret, Brock _did_ recognize the name.

“Motherfucker, do not tell me she’s dating the Shrinky Dink from the fucking ant farm, Jack. No, no, no, no.”

“Well, maybe they’re just friends,” Jack said, trying to bargain. Sometimes you could bargain.

“He used to work at goddamn Baskin-Robbins!” Brock yelled. He looked a little weepy. Oh no, Jack thought. Weepy was bad. Weepy proceeded Throwy, Stabby, and Mean Drunk Brock.

“Brock--” Jack said coaxingly.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh,” Brock said, punching the nearest wall.

“Now, you know the therapist said primal scream therapy was a bad fit, mate--”

 

Hardly a great new world, Jack reflected, as he fled the room after Brock started throwing furniture and stabbing the couch pillows. He passed a venomous looking Wanda as she glided towards Brock, python around her neck. “He has distress. You are inadequate, Jack Rollins,” she said. Was it his imagination, or had she said in the exact tones of his terrible Aunt Myrna? Wanda smirked. She had. Bloody clairvoyant witch!

 

“Hey, Jack!” It was Pietro. The boy Wonder Twin. “Guess what I stole from Tony Stark?”

“A Porsche?” Jack offered tiredly.

“No! Guess again!” Pietro said.

“Money?” This was said in a more hopeful tone.

“No, no. Jack you are so bad at this game!”

“I give up,” Jack said.

“Now you may look,” he said, reaching into a ventilated carrier. “It is a white tiger cub! I shall keep him as a pet!” he announced. He smiled brightly.

“Bloody hell, Pietro--”

“What do tigers eat, Jack?”

“Meat?” Jack said, rubbing his forehead. He was going to start drinking early today

“I shall get some,” Pietro said, disappearing in a blur.

 

The tiger made a sad meow at Jack. Jack sighed.

 

“Poor bitzer, did they take you from your mum?” he asked, tucking the tiger in his elbow. He liked cats. He could pretend this was a cat. For a few months, anyway. Then he’d need to call a preserve. He carried the tiger with him into the kitchen and found the Cointreau he’d hidden in a drawer. “My favorite,” he told the tiger. “Tastes like oranges still warm from the sunshine. I’ll have a glass and then we’ll--uh--fetch you some milk or somesuch.” He patted the tiger cub. It blinked it’s beautiful eyes at him and batted its paws at Jack’s silver rings. In the distance there was a crash and the sound of Wanda talking soothingly. “She don’t like me,” Jack whispered to the cub, “because she’s heard me thinkin’ that’s the lost cause of the bloody century.”

 

The cub meowed what sounded like an assent. “Sensible fella,” Jack said.

 

There was a thump and Pietro appeared suddenly. “I am back!” he said cheerfully. “I have a chicken.”  He fished a packet of boneless, skinless chicken breast out of his coat and thunked it onto the table. Then he looked at it. At the tiger. Finally, he looked at Jack. “What shall we do next, Jack?” he asked.

 

Jack sighed. Pietro had no concept of cooking. He could barely feed himself dry Cheerios. “I’ll take care of it,” he told Pietro, “you just go do--whatever it is you do at this time of the day? But no more pets, okay?”

“Really?” He looked sad.

“We gotta keep this little ‘un away from Brock’s snakes, mate, especially while it’s small,” Jack said, shuddering a little. He would need to think on that. Could you snake-proof a room for a tiger?

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Pietro said. Then he vanished. Jack and the tiger were alone again. Mercifully.

 

Rather grimly, Jack wondered if he’d just managed to super-espionage himself into the manager of the world’s weirdest supervillain boy band.

 


	2. Getting Your Crush's Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and feedback. It was super-inspiring, so I wrote a smidge more crackalacky, this time from Wanda's POV. Mostly.

_Previously, in Sokovia_

 

The first time Wanda Maximoff saw Brock Rumlow, he was breaking her out of her cell. “Stand back, kid,” he’d slurred, “I’mma get you out of here, away from Nazi Mr. Peanut. S’not fair, keeping you in this cell. It’s fucking dirty. You’re a kid.”

“Yes, my brother, he is here, too,” Wanda said, struggling to process. She could feel waves of heartbreak and pain radiating off the strange, burned man, but more than that, Wanda felt sympathy. Towards her. That was shocking. Like having cool, soothing washcloth pressed tenderly to her forehead. Wanda has assumed that sympathy was only an emotion one felt within families. Pietro and she sympathized with each other, but everyone around them was wholly devoid of sympathy. Cold. Methodical. She thought adulthood involved shedding such emotions. But here was this man--psyche leaking messy emotions all over the place: _Despair. Heartbreak. Frustration. Longing. Sadness. Intoxication. Sympathy. For her!_

“Why they keeping you both in this?” he grumbled. A dazed Wanda looked around. Her cell _was_ dirty. Strucker was always saying she was such a valuable asset, but why did they keep her in this grimy, dank place? Everything looked as if it had a thin coating of grey soot.

“I--I don’t know,” she whispered. It was like she saw everything with fresh eyes once she’d felt his outrage at it.

“I’mma get you out,” he repeated, finally cracking the glass door and lifting it away. A corner broke, but there was a fresh rush of air into her tiny cell. She could smell alcohol. Maybe? They never let her drink. They’d never let her do _anything._ “Careful, careful, kid,” he said warningly. He reached his hands out. She’d thought he was her Prince Charming, rescuing the princess from the tower. Scarred, yes, but she could see in his memories that he’d once been the most handsome man she’d ever seen--almost beautiful. It took her breath away. He picked her up to carry her--she was barefoot in the cold cell and there was glass--and she felt a thrill of dizzy elation. No one ever touched her to be kind: they took her blood for tests, prodded her with the scepter, and tested her to see how she responded to cuts and bruises, but no stranger had ever given her sympathy and worried about the state of her feet.  She gazed into her prince’s eyes. _I adore you_ , she thought. _I’ll make it better. Whatever’s happened to you, I’ll help._

 

“HYDRA’s for pussies now anyway. Anybody good’s dead, ‘cept Jack,” he told her, hiccupping.

“Yes,” Wanda said obediently. She would leave HYDRA for him. Anything he said had to be correct, right? He was here to rescue them. She gestured down the hall. “Pietro is there,” she told him. “We came to hurt Tony Stark. His bombs killed our parents.”

“I’m sorry, kid. I hate Tony Stark, too,” he told her.

“You do?” she said, delighted.

“Uh-huh. He’s a smug, boat shoes rich boy asshole. My-my--somebody I know works for him now,” he said. The arms around her tightened reflexively and Wanda shivered at the sensation. He was warm.

“Boat shoes?” Wanda said, puzzled. He didn’t answer: he was too busy shooting a guard. So, she poked around in Brock Rumlow’s mind, very, very gently, like she was unwrapping the perfect birthday present. He was strong. He was brave. He was good in emergencies. He’d had sex before--lots of it, apparently. Wanda was frankly curious about that. There were no men in the Sokovian base she would have touched with a ten-foot pole and they’d monitored her very carefully for any kind of emotional attachment. Strucker had considered her sibling relationship with Pietro essential to their future teamwork, but anything else he deemed an “ unnecessary distraction.” She could not have friends. She could not have boyfriends. She could not read anything not published by HYDRA. For Wanda, the world had stopped when she was ten years old. They didn’t even let her watch television. Wanda had never been kissed before. She thought she might enjoy being kissed by Brock Rumlow, sending out a tendril of telepathic curiosity on the subject of kissing.

He liked kissing.

He’d done a fair bit of it.

He was most definitely in love with another woman.

Wanda’s heart sank a little once she pried open the mental box labeled _Darcy Lewis_ in her prince’s blurrily intoxicated mind. But Wanda was determined. She’d survived being buried in the rubble next to a Stark bomb, the loss of her parents, all the trauma and the scent of death around her, and she’d survived being experimented on and held as a prisoner in the cell. She was strong now. He would see her, eventually.

 

***

 

Darcy laughed when she read the forum post from the poor beleaguered Australian assistant. She’d joined the board to be able to vent occasionally, back in the day. Pre-Thor. Now she was the de facto den mother and old-timer doling out advice for managing difficult personalities. She had Tony and Bruce and the Wombats in addition to Jane and Thor; they’d followed Maria Hill to SI with the fall of SHIELD.

 

 **AussieJack:** He’s driving me up a bloody wall. I can’t take it.

 **AussieJack:** If he buys one more cobra…

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Cobras?

 **AussieJack:** He’s been going through a rough patch since his girlfriend dumped him. It’s killing our client base.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Ouch. I know that one. Heavy Metal’s GF lives in California, they’re constantly on-off. One time, he bought a tiger and _lost_ it. I still wonder if it was PETA?

 **AussieJack:** That gives me an idea…...

 

Darcy was just about to reply when Scott came bouncing into Jane’s lab. He had a giant bag of peanut M&Ms, a box of Sno-Caps, and several bags of unpopped popcorn tucked under his arm. “Hey, babe,” he said. “I got snacks. You want to sneak into Tony’s movie theater with me and Cassie, watch some movies? Cassie wants to watch _Despicable Me_ again.”

“Absolutely,” Darcy said, typing _good luck_ to AussieJack and grabbing her purse. Scott Lang really was the best boyfriend, she thought. They were so similar! They never argued about what to watch on tv (her and Ian) or whether to go skiing or hiking instead of watching reality tv (also Ian) and he definitely wasn’t a secret murder Nazi (Brock, obvs.). 

Darcy was happier than she’d ever been. She was so happy that she and Cassie had an impromptu dance party during the previews and spilled popcorn all up in Tony’s swanky theater.

 

***

“Wandaaaaaaaaa!” Brock called from the other room. “Come help me, please? Can’t--can’t sleep without--without them.” Wanda sighed and got off her little bed in the West African warehouse. Brock needed her magic to sleep. She put down her book. Someone had left a copy of _He’s Not that Into You_ on her nightstand. Probably Jack or Pietro. Jack, she decided. Pietro had once teased her about her hopeless one-sided infatuation and only Jack’s intervention had kept him from serious injury. Pietro was very careful about virgin jokes now. Where was Pietro, she wondered? He seemed to find Brock’s hideouts depressive, but she couldn’t stop herself from lingering. She’d read bits of the book, veering between resigned recognition and angry disbelief that anyone would even suggest she was _that_ pathetic. A few times, she’d thrown it against the wall, but had always gone back and picked it up, sighing and reading another chapter. Her Sokovian marginalia was basically unprintable swear words now.  

 

“Heyyyy,” Brock slurred, when she stepped into his empty office. He was half passed-out on the desk, two bottles of liquor on their sides, empty. “They took ‘em,” he said. “Just took ‘em.” The government had raided their compound. Wanda and Pietro had managed to hide Jack and Brock and little Leopold the tiger; however, all the snakes had been seized. PETA had apparently petitioned the government, after the organization was tipped off by a local. Brock was not taking it well.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda said gently, taking the opportunity to stroke his hair. He was so pretty again. She’d thought getting Helen Cho to repair his injuries would make him happy, but it hadn’t worked. She’d tried all the ways she could think of to woo him---helped along by a back-issue of _Seventeen_ magazine that Pietro had found somewhere and left at the Manila compound. She’d scrutinized an article on getting your crush’s attention, writing down the suggested techniques:

 

**_Make It Known That You’re Available, But Have Your Own Interests_ **

 Wanda had found him everywhere: Manila, Budapest, Abu Dhabi. She tried to space out her visits at first, but she could feel his sadness. Feel it. It made her all itchy. He needed her, she thought. Wanda had no heart for her revenge against Tony Stark with Brock in pain. She let Pietro steal his cars instead.

Plus, Jack’s inability to manage Brock irritated her. Why was he not as good a brother to Brock as Pietro was to her? Pietro would keep her from going off the rails--unless he was fleeing their depressing warehouse to crash a Stark party in Paris.

 

**_Take an Interest in Your Crush’s Hobbies!_ **

Wanda had dutifully draped herself in the snakes. She could lull them into compliance, making it safe for her, but they were still creepy. She hated having insight into the snakes’ limited consciousness, all a stream of _eat eat eat._

 

**_Do Fun Things Together_ **

 She had helped him with getting access to Helen Cho’s Cradle. Pietro had teased her for _months_ about her face when he emerged, unscarred and totally naked, from the box. She’d blushed and Brock had actually fussed at Pietro for letting her be there. Like she was _a child._

 

**_Develop Your Own Personality and Style_ **

Wanda had tried to learn pop culture, but so far, she’d mostly spent her time browsing online Crossbones fan art.  Only Jack seemed to notice her new silver rings, eyeliner, and tattoo. She’d assumed Brock--whose unburned body had amazing tattoos--would be interested. Nope. Nada. Zilch. He’d just crooned at those awful snakes. Nothing worked.

 

“Wanda, where’s Jack?” Brock slurred, picking his head up and looking at her sadly.

“He’s taking Leopold to those conservationists today,” Wanda said, looking at him with a mix of tenderness and frustration.

“Oh,” Brock said. “Pietro?”

“He is gone. I do not know,” Wanda said.

“Everybody leaves me,” Brock said.

“I do not leave you,” she told him. “Do you know what today is?” Wanda asked him sweetly.

“The day those bastards at PETA will live to--” he began angrily. Wanda sighed.

“Not this again, Brock.”

“They took them,” he muttered stubbornly, then sank his cheek onto the desk again. Wanda stared expectantly. He started to sniffle.

“Today is the day we met!” Wanda said, poking him telepathically.

“Oh,” Brock said, jolting.

“You forgot the day you rescued me and Pietro?” she said, insulted.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh. No, no, I didn’t forget--I thought you meant your birthday,” he said.

“My birthday is in April,” she told him hotly.

“What--what if we get some ice cream or somethin,’ kid? You like that?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

“I am not a child!” Wanda yelled. She swept out of the room, telepathically slamming the door behind her. It landed with a bang that made Brock wince.

 

She’d tried very hard to make Brock see how much she loved him, but he was stubbornly still in love with that Darcy Lewis.  Also, Wanda was secretly relieved that all the snake tanks were empty.

She was much fonder of little Leopold; now that her infatuation with Brock had retreated a smidge she could admit that Pietro had much better taste in pets.

 

***

Scott, Darcy, and Cassie were watching _Despicable Me 2_ when JARVIS alerted them to a facility incursion. “A gentleman has been apprehended attempting to steal Mr. Stark’s yellow Ferrari,” the AI said.

“Was it Luis?” Scott asked, chewing a Twizzler.

“Or Dave?” Cassie said.

“Does Kurt even have a driver’s license?” Darcy mused.

“He has a Russian one,” Cassie said.

“Huh,” Scott said, “I didn’t know that.”

“He showed it to me when we went to--that place I’m not supposed to mention,” Cassie said.

“Cassie,” Scott said sternly. “Tell me that you and Kurt didn’t go behind my back to the _Baskin-Robbins?_ ”

“Technically, it was my idea,” Darcy admitted. “Birthday cake was the flavor of the month.”

“Technically, the name is Icing on the Cake, Lewis. _Icing on the Cake.”_

“Suuuuuuuuure,” Darcy said.

“Yeah, Dad.”

“Miss Lewis, Mr. Lang, Miss Lang--” JARVIS began fretfully.

“All my loved ones, betraying me! Betraying me, JARVIS!” Scott called.

“I’m afraid it is none of those individuals, Mr. Lang. It is a young man calling himself Pietro Maximoff. Captain Rogers requests your presence downstairs,” the AI said.

“Can I go, too?” Cassie asked. “I want to see Mister Steve, I love Mister Steve--”

“I know, me, too, kiddo,” Scott said, grinning. “He’s the most adorablest.”


	3. The Cool Kids Club Has Open Membership

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

Darcy, Scott, and Cassie carried their popcorn bags downstairs. They caught sight of Steve looking seriously at a young, curly-haired guy in shackles. “Must be the car thief,” Scott said, munching on popcorn. He sighed.

“What, Dad?” Cassie said.

“I owe your Uncle Dave twenty bucks, I thought Uncle Luis was the culprit in our car thefts,” Scott said. Steve turned and looked at them. Scott brightened and waved enthusiastically. “Hi, Steve!” he yelled.

“Dad, he can hear when you talk normally,” Cassie said, sighing.

“Yeah, try to be cool, you’re embarrassing us, we’ll have to kick you out of the Cool Kids Club,” Darcy said.

“Absolutely,” Cassie said. She waved at Steve more demurely.

“I’m still mad I don’t get a laminated card,” Scott complained. “Darce, you and Cassie have cards.”

“It’s because your membership is probationary,” Cassie said. Steve exited the room. “Hellloooo, Mister Steve,” she said, beaming cutely at him. “Would you like some of my popcorn?”

“Hi, Miss Cassie, I’d love some,” Steve said, kneeling down and taking a handful. Steve loved kids.

“I have popcorn, too, Steve,” Scott announced. Steve grinned wickedly at Cassie around his popcorn. She shook her head.

“Who’s the culprit, Steverini?” Darcy asked.

“A kid named Pietro Maximoff, Darce. He’s uh, one of the von Strucker subjects who Brock broke out of that Sokovian fortress--”

“Ooooh,” Darcy said, realization dawning. Tony and Steve kept tabs on Brock for her. Also, for Bucky, who’d undergone cryo and patched things up with Tony. He was in Wakanda now, until they resolved his fugitive legal status. “He’s been stealing Tony’s cars? That’s all?”

“Natasha got him to admit that he took the tiger,” Steve said.

“It wasn’t PETA?” Scott asked.

“Nope,” Steve said.

“But just the tiger and cars?” Darcy said, baffled. “Not tried to kill us?”

“It doesn’t appear that way. He seems almost...goofy?” Steve said. Darcy looked at the blonde guy. He winked flirtatiously at her. “He claims he wants to go straight, go to college in America,” Steve said.

“Can I talk to him?” Darcy asked.

“Sure. He’s safely restrained,” Steve said. “But I’ll stay right here.”

  


Darcy stepped into the room. Pietro Maximoff grinned cheerfully at her. “Hello,” he said. “You are gorgeous.”

“Excuse me?” Darcy said.

“You are gorgeous and I am single,” he said. “Perhaps I could take you dinner once I am no longer a criminal?”

“I have a boyfriend,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” he said, looking disappointed, but only for a moment. Then he brightened. “Is Natasha single?”

“Are you just trying to go straight to pick up women?” Darcy asked.

“Go straight?” Pietro said, frowning. “I do not understand?”

“It means not be a criminal anymore,” Darcy said.

“Well,” Pietro said, tilting his head to one side, “yes. But I would also like to attend your spring break. I like America. It does not appear to me that life as a criminal would be as pleasant as spring break in De-tona.”

“Daytona,” Darcy said. “It’s a town in Florida.”

“Where all the reality shows are!” Pietro said enthusiastically. “How far is Daytona from Jersey Shore?”

“Pretty far,” Darcy said.

“I can go fast,” Pietro said, grinning. “Would you like to see me beat Captain America in a foot race?”

 

From outside the room, Steve chuckled, then translated for Scott and Cassie. “He told Darce she was gorgeous and he thinks he can beat me in a foot race,” Steve said.

“Oh, boo!” Scott said.

“Yeah, boo!” Cassie seconded.

“Nobody wants to see that,” Scott grumbled. “First you hit on my girl, then you insult _Captain America?_ Cap, I’m offended. Lock him up and throw away the key,” Scott said.

“I want to speak at his parole hearing. He’s clearly too crackers to be rehabilitated,” Cassie said seriously. Steve laughed so hard at that, he clapped his hand on his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, what Cassie said,” Scott agreed. He nodded vehemently as he chewed the popcorn. Steve was still laughing.

 

“Umm, maybe?” Darcy said, uncertain.

“Excellent,” Pietro said.

“Where’s the tiger now?” Darcy asked.

“Jack took him to a conservation group,” Petro said, his smile dimming. “Because of the snakes. That is another reason I must go straight. I cannot take any more of the snakes.”

“Snakes?” Darcy said.

 

***

Wanda had put Brock down for a nap and was trying to read her book when the phone rang and her brother’s face flashed on screen. “Wanda!” he said happily.

“Pietro, where are you?” Wanda said.

“I am in New York! I have joined the Avengers,” he said happily.

“What?” Wanda said, shocked.

“They would like you come as well. Captain America says anyone can be rehabilitated, provided that you are remorseful--although I do not know what you have done, except that raid on the office of Helen Cho--” Pietro mused out loud. “Mostly, you just put Brock to sleep and play with those snakes.”

“Please don’t say snakes,” Wanda said mournfully, shuddering a little. “Do you really think I would be happier?”

“Read my mind,” Pietro said gently. They were so close, Wanda could do it through the telephone. She sighed.

“All right,” she said. “I will come to New York.”

“Do not worry, someone is coming to get you in an hour, just be at this location--” he said.

 

Wanda went into Brock’s room. He was snoring. “I am sorry I could not help you,” she said gently. Then she kissed his forehead. He stirred, but did not wake. Jack was away at an arms deal overnight, so it was easy to go.

 

Wanda left the compound in a stolen Jeep. She drove to a clearing an hour away. The quinjet had already landed. As she walked over, the ramp descended. A man was standing at the ramp’s edge’s, his shoulders silhouetted by the light inside. For a moment, Wanda couldn’t see his face. Then he took a step forward. “Miss Maximoff?” he said.

“Yes?” Wanda said tentatively. She reached out a tendril of telepathic curiosity and was hit by a wave of empathy. It sent her rocking back on her feet. There was _kindness_ and _protectiveness_ and a concern for her _well-being_. For her _safety_ and _freedom._ And _justice_ and _equality_ and _families._ Wanda felt bathed in warm, sunny light, like the single time she and Pietro and their parents had gone to the beach one summer and she’d lay on the sand for hours until she turned as pink as a shrimp. It was one of her best childhood memories. The man with the blue eyes (how could sea blue be so warm, she wondered?) cleared his throat gently.

“Ma’am, I’m Steve Rogers,” he said.

“Steve Rogers,” Wanda repeated. The syllables were round and soft in her mouth.

“I’m here to take you to your brother. You’ll be safe,” he said. He reached out a hand and Wanda took it. She was hit by another wave of warm, fuzzy feelings and swayed a little. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Did Rumlow give you any trouble?”

“I’m all right, I think,” Wanda said. “He was asleep, so I drove away. It’s just that your feelings, they’re...a lot of feelings.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning and looking almost bashful. He gave her a beaming smile. “I apologize if they’re stubborn thoughts,” he said. "Let me get your bags." Wanda watched, stunned, as Captain America retrieved her go bag. "These too?" he asked, gesturing. She shook her head. That was one of Brock's blazer boxes.

"Not mine," she said. "Rumlow's jackets."

"Thank goodness, they're terrible," Steve said, giving her a grin that--that--was it a naughty grin? It was! Wanda was stunned: Steve Rogers had made a joke. She repressed a giggle.

“Can I--may I hold your hand?” Wanda asked, as they walked up the ramp. Close proximity to Steve made her feel buoyant. Like fireworks. Fireworks and sunshine.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, taking hers and giving it a little squeeze. "You can do this," he said, voice reassuring.

 

 

***

“So, then Pietro tells me that Brock is collecting snakes now!” Darcy told Jane, gobsmacked.

“Oh, yuck,” Jane said.

“Bruce, he’s doing things with venom,” Darcy said to the scientist. He was hanging out with them as they ate push pops after work.

“Well, that’s not alarming or anything,” Bruce said wryly.

“I’m super-glad you broke up with him, Darce,” Jane said.

“Where’s the Pietro kid now?” Bruce asked.

“Playing baseball with Thor. It’s oddly like _Twilight._ He loves baseball, for some reason. Also, he has no concept of appropriate compliments, he’s like Borat,” Darcy said.

“Appropriate compliments?” Bruce said frowning.

“He told her that her boobs were excellent twice,” Scott said.

“I didn’t help that you high-fived him when he asked if you’d seen them!” Darcy said.

“They are excellent boobs,” Scott said.

 

***

“Where’s Wanda?” Jack said to Brock, when he shuffled out of his bedroom, dark hair askew and five o’clock shadow visible. Brock rubbed his face.

“I dunno,” Brock said. He frowned. “She wouldn’t just leave without telling us?”

“Probably not,” Jack said neutrally. He didn’t want to set Brock off. Brock left the kitchen area of the warehouse and walked into the adjoining room that served as Wanda’s tiny bedroom. She’d asked for the tiny storage room off the kitchen because it felt homey, she’d told Brock. Brock looked around. Wanda’s bed hadn’t been slept in. There was a book on the nightstand. _He’s Just Not That Into You._

“He who?” Brock wondered out loud. He picked up the book and stormed out to Jack. “Has somebody on the team been messing with Wanda? ‘Cause I’ll kick their fucking asses--”

“I’d say not,” Jack said dryly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brock said.

“Sheila’s infatuated with you. Or was. Seems like she’s given up the ghost, mate,” Jack said.

“Oh,” Brock said, confused. “But she’s a kid. Just a sweet kid. I could be her father, for fuck’s sake.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said, grinning.

“What?” Brock said.

“I just found your one scruple, mate, it’s amusing,” Jack said.

“Shut up, Rollins,” Brock said.


	4. $13 To His Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

**AussieJack:** I just don’t know what to do with him. His drinking is out of control.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Oh, I can help! My boss goes through periods. I’ve got the names and numbers for a ton of therapists, facilities, Betty Ford.

 **AussieJack:** The rehab?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yes, but we also have a twenty-minute tape recorded for him by the actual Betty Ford. He’s been going through this for a long time, so she sent him some thoughts and reflections once.

 **AussieJack:** Seriously?

 

***

 

Wanda thought she might have miscalculated. She had not anticipated so much exposure to Darcy Lewis when she had said yes to Steve on the quinjet. Steve’s warmth had lulled her into comfort. It was strange: in Wanda’s mind, Darcy had grown into a terrifying figure. All red lips, flashing eyes, and menace. It was because she had been seeing Darcy through Brock’s sex-addled gaze, the Sokovian realized.

 

Whereas, real-life Darcy had offered her Reese’s Cups and told her where they kept the coffee in the lab this morning. Wanda watched Darcy gather Jane’s strange collection of half-scribbled notes on Post-Its, fast food napkins, pieces of fax paper, index cards, and notebook paper. Real-life Darcy was short, had smudges on her glasses, and had given Wanda a card with a list of untrustworthy ants on them, complete with photos. Antonelle was apparently a candy thief and Antarine tended to bite. It was hard for Wanda not to stare as Darcy worked. She fetched coffee, told jokes, and had a pleasantly functional relationship with Scott Lang, the Ant-Man. The only thing vaguely unusual about Darcy was that she wasn’t utterly terrified of this Jane Foster woman, who seemed to scare half the building. Which was odd. They were both so tiny and sweet-faced. Darcy was very pretty, to be sure, but she was a total letdown as an arch-nemesis. Even if Wanda had an alarming level of knowledge about a mole on the small of her back that Brock had been erotically fixated on. She should probably get that checked, Wanda thought. It was one good reason for Wanda to get better control of her telepathic skills; she was really sick of seeing everyone’s partners’ naked in their minds. Of course, no one around here seemed to have any naked memories of Steve bouncing at the fronts of their consciousness. Nope. Instead, Wanda had been treated to memories of various Tony Stark shenanigans. Tony---Wanda had been stunned to realize--was hardly a supervillain himself. He seemed like kind of a mess, actually. Yet, she could feel him _trying_ to connect with her and Pietro, to make amends, even as a nagging part of his mind (totally free of Wanda’s influence) whispered that no such amends could ever really be made. His own parents had been murdered, Steve had told her quietly, by Steve’s best friend, the laughing charmer from Steve’s memories. “Bucky?” Wanda had said, gasping. “Not your Bucky!”

“Yeah,” Steve had told her grimly. “HYDRA. Brainwashing.” It seemed that everyone had a sad hole in them: lost loves (Steve, that Bruce Banner), lost parents (herself, Pietro, Tony, Thor), lost friends (literally everyone). Yet, everyone at the facility was so normal. Wanda had never been around such normal people before. There were no snakes, all weapons were properly cleaned and accounted for, and no one had been stabbed in Wanda’s presence in days. No one seemed to take their losses as occasion to do something bonkers. It was really too bad that Brock couldn’t be rehabilitated. Wanda sighed.

 

“Twizzler’s?” the Ant-Man offered her. He gave her a big smile. He was working on some machinery for Jane. He didn’t have Brock’s body, but Wanda could see that he was happy, well-adjusted, and optimistic. They seemed to match.

“Yes, thank you,” Wanda said politely. Too late, she saw motion in the corner of her eye. Behind him, Darcy was waving her arms wildly. _No, no, no. Sorry,_ Darcy mouthed. That must mean the candy was not good. Wanda took a bite of the Twizzler.

“Great, right?” Scott said to her. He looked happy. “Darce thinks they’re awful, but I love them.”

“They’re very...chewy,” Wanda said.

“Uh-huh. Exactly.” He looked at Darcy. “Your issue is that you like crispy and crunchy, babe, and eschew the chew. You don’t even like chewy bacon.”

“La la la, I don’t hear you,” Darcy said.

“It’s her one flaw,” Scott said seriously. “That she has no respect for Twizzlers.”

“What is your one flaw?” Wanda asked curiously.

“Babe, what’s my flaw?” Scott called to Darcy.

“Phffft, you’re perfect,” she said.

“Awwwwww,” Scott said. “Isn’t she great?”

“Yeah,” Wanda said. Darcy Lewis was nice. They were supposed to do girls night. Wanda had never been to one. She was looking forward to it. Darcy had told her there would be nail polish _and_ drinks.

“Wait! On reflection, I might say it’s that you think Steve is cuter than me,” Darcy said. “I amend my previous statement.”

“I don’t think Steve is cuter than you--” Scott began.

“Wanda can see if you lie!” Darcy said cheerfully. Wanda laughed.

“I think you’re _equally_ cute,” Scott said.

 

***

 

In a bar in Spain, Brock Rumlow was crying on a table. “Jackie, I gotta do something,” he said. “Gotta do something,” he repeated.

“Yeah, mate,” Jack said, checking their Swiss bank balance.

“What do I do?” Brock said.

“What about the beach?” Jack suggested mildly.

“The beach?” Brock said.

“Get some sun, some rest, recharge, mate,” Jack said. He had a plan. Also, plane tickets. After the plan’s astronomical sum came out, he’d have thirteen dollars left to his name. But Brock had saved his life at least five times, Jack owed him.

 

“Where am I?” Brock said, when he woke up. He had a vague memory of he and Jack leaving the bar in Spain, then going to a private plane. A pleasant-looking woman leaned over him. She was wearing seafoam nursing scrubs and an ID badge. “Hospital?” he said fuzzily.

“Good morning, Mr. Rumlow,” the woman said. “Welcome to the Tranquility Center of Nantucket.”

“The fucking what?” Brock said.

“We’re a four-star, luxury private drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility with oceanfront views and a personal chef for each our guests. You were checked in this morning and I’m here to complete your intake paperwork. Mr. Rollins has let us know you have family in proximity, would you like to give them visiting privileges?”  

“You want to call my ma?” Brock said, horrified.

“We can table that for tomorrow, if you’d like,” the woman said. “I’m Judith and Mr. Rollins has provided us with a few extra resources for you. Would you like me to play the tape now?”

“The tape?” Brock said. He frowned.

“A specially-recorded message!” the woman said chipperly. She hit a button on the phone next to Brock’s bedside. It was sitting on a speaker dock. “I’ll let you listen to it now.”

 

At first, all Brock heard was aged muzak. It sounded like flutes. Had Jack left him in some sort of cult? “Hello,” a calm, soft female voice said. “I’m Betty Ford. I’ve heard you’ve been having some trouble, son. I know something about that kind of trouble, so I’d like to offer you some words of encouragement and inspiration--”

“What the fuck?” Brock said.

 

***

 **AussieJack:** He’s settled in. I can’t thank you enough for all your help.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** No prob! It’s been fun to help.

 **AussieJack:** Can I send you a gift basket? Chocolates?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Well, it’s a huge violation of my NDA, but my name is Darcy and I work at the New Avengers facility….

 **AussieJack:** Darcy? Bloody Hell!

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** What?

 **AussieJack:** It’s me. Jack. Jack Rollins.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** HOLY SHIH TZU.

  


***

A shocked Darcy went to find Scott. He was in her bathtub. There was a bottle of champagne next to the tub. “You’re dressed? it’s Jacuzzi Tues-dee and Cass is with her mom,” Scott said.”Get in, babe. We’ve got the whole night. I put in vanilla and frosting, it smells like my birrrrrthday up in heeeeeere.”

“Scott, I have news,” Darcy said. “Serious news.”

“Uh-oh, I know that face, that’s the face that ends in Naked Monday Nights being cancelled,” Scott said. “I no like that face.”

“How much of this champagne did you have already?’ Darcy asked.

“I dunno, it was bubbly, I like bubbles!” Scott said. He had bubbles in his hair.

“We gotta talk to Cap. Jack wants to go straight, too. He's flat broke. Plus, we need to put together a plan to apprehend Brock,” she said.

“Huh. Does crime not pay anymore?” Scott said.

“Nope,” Darcy said.  



	5. Share In Group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! I'm having a great time with this one, but our ride is is wrapping up.

“Darce,” Steve said gently, “Jack Rollins? You want to rehabilitate him?”

“Why not?” Darcy said, squaring her shoulders and refusing to give into the Cap is Disappointed Face. Natasha grinned a tiny fraction. It was a lip quirk, really.

“Because he was the first guy to whack me in that elevator,” Steve grumbled, rubbing his neck.

“Really?” Darcy said curiously.

“Yes,” Nat said.

“Boooo!” Scott said. “I don’t like him ‘ready.” He attempted to sit on the conference table and sort of slid off. Steve hid his laughter out of politeness--Scott was his biggest fan besides Coulson, after all--but Darcy laughed as she helped him into a chair.

“Stay,” she said firmly. It was the same voice she used with puppies, Thor, and things that tended to roll off the counter or fall out of cabinets.

“Okey-dokey,” Scott said. He grinned at them. “Equally cute!” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. Steve merely looked amused. “Where’s Tony?” she asked Steve.

“Date with Pepper,” Steve supplied.

“Scott, are you drunk?” Jane asked, as Scott listed a little.

“It’s Jacuzzi Tues-dee,” Darcy explained. “He had champagne.”

“I love bubbles, Jane! I got the party started….but then it just fizzled away,” Scott said. “Also, I don’t like how this guy is a link to your ex, babe. What if, you know, Brock tries to kidnap you and hide you on a secret island--”

“Secret island?” Jane repeated, giggling.

“Or interrupts our wedding! Like one of those Cassadines _?_ He’s a total Helena, I’m telling you,” Scott slurred.

“Who are the Cassadines?” Steve whispered to Natasha.

“Characters on daytime television,” Natasha said.

“Oh,” Steve said.

“ _General Hospital,”_ Jane said.

“Oh,” Steve said, nodding reflexively.

“We’re getting married?” Darcy said to Scott.

“One day,” Scott said. “Luis is gonna be the best man, Cassie’ll be a flower girl. It’s gonna be epic. But not if Crossbones tries to steal you during the objection part.”

“We’re not going to let that happen, Scott,” Steve said. He patted Scott comforting on the shoulder and Scott beamed at him.

“Cap, you’re so awesome. Your shoulders are awesome, too,” he said. “I’d ask you to be in the wedding, but you’re too famous. Everyone might look at you instead of us. That’s why famous musicians don’t do the wedding music.” Jane had to lean on Darcy, silently shaking and laugh-crying.

“All right,” Steve said mildly, grinning. “Getting back to the subject at hand--”

“Actually, Scott is not incorrect. He is obsessed with you, Darcy,” Wanda said seriously. She frowned at Darcy.

“See! Wanda knows,” Scott said.

“Could you use that?” Darcy said. “Me as bait or something?”

“Oh, no way, nope, nope,” Scott said. “That’s no bueno. You’re my lady, you’re not being the bait.”

“I could be the bait,” Darcy said stubbornly. “I can handle myself. I got you out of that bathtub!”

 

***

At the Tranquility Center of Nantucket, the self-help meetings started at 9:30am, after the gluten free breakfast. Brock had grimly eaten eggs, refused to provide contact information for his mother to the daytime nurse, and was now sitting in a chair. A chair in a circle. A circle made up of strangers. Who were going to talk about their _feelings._ “All right, let’s go around the circle,” the therapist leading the group said, in one of those too-soft voices that grated on Brock’s nerves. “I’m Dave. I’m a licensed clinical therapist, but I’d like you think of me as your friend for the duration of your stay---and the duration of the rest of your sober life.” He smiled at the group. Dave was a toucher. Dave asked you to call him by his first name. He had attempted to half-hug Brock. Brock did not want a hug. Brock wanted a drink. Brock scanned the circle: a female executive, no doubt, who looked embarrassed. A guy with a sunburn who did not. A tall, older man who looked vaguely familiar. They went around the room.

“I’m Tonya. A few days ago, I passed out during a work conference--”

“Brandon. DUI. But I’d only had two beers and like, uh, recreational nose candy, I swear--”

“My name is Jennifer. I flunked out of college. That’s when I realized I had a problem--”

 

People talked and talked. Brock shifted miserably. He hated talking. Fucking therapy. What was all this talking good for? Yammer, yammer, yammer. What did it solve? Not shit. His life was in shambles. He’d lost Darcy, his fake job, his real job, his friends, his professional rep, his looks, and terrifyingly, he was afraid that Jack had just left him here. This was a total nightmare. Also, his mother would find him, somehow. She was like that. She was going to descend on him with lasagna and try to get him to marry Lisa Franchetti again.

“Brock?” Dave said. Brock jerked his head towards the therapist. He’d been staring at the wall.

“Huh?” he said. There was an awkward silence. Brock realized they’d gotten to him and it was obvious he’d been tuning everyone out.

“Brock, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Dave said.

“I’m Brock,” Brock said grimly. “I drink and I steal things. And my head fucking hurts.”

“Amen, brother,” the guy next to Brock said. Sunburn guy. He clapped Brock on the shoulder and Brock really wished there were still knives in his shoes. Someone had replaced his regular boots with goddamn white Reeboks. Like he was a fucking Grandma.

“Why do you think you drink, Brock?” Dave said.

“I don’t fucking know, maybe it’s this whole situation,” he said, waving a hand towards his burned face. “Seemed like a good way to fill my free time?”

“What?” Dave said. He’d forgotten he wasn’t burned anymore. Sometimes he would forget.

”Shit. I was badly burned, okay? I lost my ears,” Brock explained. “It was bad. Just got it fixed recently so I’m not scarred no more. But my girl left me—“

“How did you spend your free time before?” Dave asked in that same placid voice.

“I had a very high-stress job in DC. And my girlfriend,” he said.

“She leave you when you lost your ears, man?” Sunburn guy said. “That’s fucked up.” He was talking loudly.

“My hearing’s fine,” Brock said. “And she didn’t leave me because of the burns--”

“Sure,” Sunburn guy scoffed.

“Now, Gavin,” Dave said. “Let Brock speak.”

“She didn’t leave because of the burns. I was mixed up with some bad shit at the time, bad people. I’d, uh, misrepresented myself when we got together--”

“Misrepresented?” Dave said.

“Lied. I lied. She left because of the lying,” he said. “Not the burns.”

“Okay,” Dave said, “thank you for sharing--”

“She’s got a new guy now. I bet he never lies. He just goes around going, “Hi, I’m Scott!” when he’s supposed to be on the downlow, so for sure he never lies to her about his Nazi buddies or his evil boss or the guy in the bank vault with the murder arm--” A surprised Dave stared and tried to interrupt, but Brock was on a roll. He continued talking. “Scott probably helps little old ladies cross the street and shit. I bet Scott never asks her to pick him up at the helipad after he’s shot a Serbian crime boss and gets blood on her car mats. She was really nice about that, though. She was nice about everything.” He sighed. “She never complained about my travel. She was just a happy person. Just content. You don’t meet many people who are content, you know? Most people are low-grade miserable. I was low-grade miserable, too, but I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking know. But now that I’ve been happy, I can’t go back to being low-grade miserable anymore. So, I’m just really goddamn miserable. My snakes used to help, but somebody tipped off PETA and then they took ‘em. Every last snake. They even took Herschel and he was just a grass snake.”

“Herschel?” Jennifer said from the other side of the circle.

“I tried to give ‘em fun names. She used to do that. Name things. She named my toaster and my knives. We were practically living together. I was so fucking stupid, I used to complain about her cold feet when she put ‘em on my calves. They were like ice cubes. I miss that.” Brock sighed.

“You could put ice cubes on your calves,” Gavin said.

“I tried. It’s not the same,” Brock said.

“Okay,” Dave said slowly. “On the subject of physical sensation--”

“She was a great hugger. She hugged everybody,” Brock began again. “I’m just so sad, man. So sad.” He put his face in his hands and started to cry. “I want a hug and a goddamn drink.”

“Well--” Dave said.

“I’ll hug you, man!” Brandon said. He crossed the trust circle and gave Brock a big bear hug. “I always feel like I need a hug when I stop doing coke!” he yelled.

***

Darcy had insomnia. Scott was snoring next to her in bed and she was channel-surfing. She was puzzling over ways to catch Brock. They’d discussed photostatic doubles, using Wanda’s powers, having Pietro speed-snatch him. All of those seemed unduly elaborate to Darcy. She’d offered to just call him and ask to meet him for coffee. Everyone had vetoed that plan, but Darcy felt stubbornly determined to participate. He was _her_ crazy ex. Why should she have to sit in the compound while everyone else had all the fun? Darcy looked up at the television and shrieked. Then she reached over to Scott. “Scott, Scott, wake up!” she yelled, shaking him. After she shook him like a paint mixer at the Home Depot, Scott half-woke.

“‘M sorry. What candy did they eat, babe?” he said sleepily. He thought the ants had gotten into her Snickers stash again.

“It’s not the ants. Look, look at the television!” Darcy said. On screen, there were snakes everywhere. Crawling all over that poor person as the _Entertainment Tonight_ hosts explained that this was the latest trend in relaxation massages: live snakes.

“Huh?” Scott said.

“Scott, they do snake massages now. It’s the new celebrity thing,” Darcy said.

“Okay.” Scott started to snore. Darcy grabbed the phone. Jack would get it, she thought. She’d just figured out how they could lure out Brock. He’d love a snake massage.

 

***

“Bloody hell,” Jack said. He was staying with some friends in New York for a week. He hadn’t officially joined the Avengers yet, so he assumed it was okay to do a few vodka shots and crash on Vladimir and Anatoly’s couch for a bit. He just wouldn’t ask how they were paying their bills. Plausible deniability. “Snake message?” he said. “Yeah, yeah. I think it’ll work. I’ll arrange things, call you tomorrow.”

“What is going on?” Vladimir asked. They were drinking at a bar.

“Did you know about massages with snakes, live snakes?” Jack asked. “It’s a new thing now, Brock’s old sheila just told me. Thinks we can lure him out for one, unarmed.”

“Americans,” Vladimir said, shaking his head. “Their problem is no respect for nature. No respect. They think it is all cute and cuddly. Nature will kill you dead. She hate the weak, she hate weakness. All Russians know this--”

“Australians, too,” Jack said, nodding. He sipped his vodka. It was nice to be around the Russians.

“I like shoes made of dead snakes,” Anatoly cracked.

“Don’t wear ‘em around Brock, it might set him off,” Jack said, sighing.

“You are good friend, Jack,” Vladimir said. “You treat him like brother. It is too bad he is nuts.”

“Too bad,” Anatoly said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. He hadn’t mentioned going straight. He figured Vladimir and Anatoly wouldn’t understand. Especially since Vladimir had been telling him about some crazy local business deal he had going with several other gangs and organizations. Shady business in Hell’s Kitchen. Lots of stabbing. Jack was so tired of stabbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SNAKE MASSAGE IS REAL!!!!!!! Ahhhhhh! I saw it on ET and had to put it in this fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbBN2w5rkb8
> 
> Yes, that's a tiny Daredevil S1 cameo, if you squint. I sort of liked the idea of Jack being buddies with Anatoli and Vladimir, the Russian mafia brothers who are weirdly likable antiheroes.


	6. If You Want Something Done Right....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“What are you doing, mate?” Jack said, horrified, when the pleasantly mild-mannered counselor stepped forward to give Brock a hug before they left the facility for this ostensible day trip.

“He’s giving me a hug, what the fuck do you think he’s doing?” Brock said grumpily, patting the other man on the back awkwardly.

“Mr. Rumlow has made some great strides in identifying his emotional triggers and discussing them in group,” the therapist told Jack.

“That so?” Jack said, nodding.

“I miss Darcy,” Brock told Jack, as if this was some sort of profound wisdom. “I’m acting out out of grief, just like when Brandon went on a cocaine binge after his grandmother died.”

“Uh, yes,” Jack said mildly. “That makes sense.”

“Also, I have to stop stabbing people because that doesn’t solve my underlying emotional dilemma,” Brock said.

“I would appreciate that,” Jack said. They walked out to the parking lot together. “I’m glad you’re doing well so far, that’s why I arranged this trip. It’s, uh, a treat? I saw it on television,” Jack told him.

“What is it?” Brock said.

“There’s this, uh, new thing people are doing, getting snake massages?” Jack said dubiously. “Live snakes and such, mate. They crawl all over you.” Brock’s eyes lit up.

“Really? I miss that. Petunia used to wiggle all over my shoulders,” he said. “She was a good snake. Great in a crisis.”

“That the one you robbed the bank with?” Jack said, repressing a shudder.

“Uh-huh. Got her from the guy who breeds snakes for the movies. Had a great temperament. I hope she’s happy, wherever she is now,” Brock said. He blinked.

“Are you all right?” Jack said, realizing he was starting to cry. Uh-oh. He made to pull the car off the road, in case of further outbursts, but Brock waved his arm.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’m just experiencing an emotion. Dave says it’s allowed,” Brock said, wiping his eyes.

“All right,” Jack said nervously.

 

***

“What’s the plan, Stan?” Darcy asked Steve from the backseat. They were parking outside a suburban massage center that catered to the very wealthy.

“The plan is, you stay in the car,” Scott said. She’d insisted on going along for the big show, as she and Scott had been calling it, but promised to stay in an unmarked SUV while they grabbed Brock. In the third row, Wanda and Pietro were playing Go Fish.

“It will be all right, Miss Itty Bitty!” a voice called over comms from other vehicle. Luis was driving their secured, extra criminal-proofed van. He loved driving the van. Because Tony had paid for it, it was a glossy black Mercedes. Luis liked to roll down the window and flirt with women at red lights. He and Darcy had nicknamed the van Greta. “Me and Greta are ready for Operation Crossbones!” Luis said cheerfully. In the background, Darcy heard Nat and Sam bickering over the radio station. Tony was nearby in his suit.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m not,” Scott said glumly.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Darcy said.

“It’s not everyday you apprehend your girl’s ex, Darce,” Steve said. He patted Scott on the knee comfortingly.

“Thank you, Captain,” Scott said. “Captain America understands my emotional upheaval.” Scott looked torn between being sad and flattered.

“Everyone understands your emotional upheaval,” Pietro chimed in from the back. “You are worried that Darcy will--”

“Pietro! Shhh,” Wanda said scoldingly. “You must not speak of things that are upsetting!” Wanda had been taking lessons in tactfulness from Steve, whereas Pietro was firmly in Tony’s Snark Is Life camp.

“This is boring, can I run around the car?” Pietro asked, as Scott fidgeted.

“No,” Steve, Darcy, and Wanda said in unison.

“I’m not afraid Darcy will leave me, okay?” Scott said.

“Yeah, Miss Itty Bitty won’t leave you,” Luis said.

“Nope,” Sam said.

“To be perfectly honest, I have always believed you would leave her for Steve,” Nat said coolly.

“Oh, snap, she knows you,” Luis said.

“Uh-huh,” Sam said. “Cap’s biggest fangirl.”

“It’s a bromance,” Scott said. “We’re bros.”

“Don’t let them get you down, Scott, I understand your feelings are platonic,” Steve said. “Bucky explained bromance to me.” Darcy grinned; Steve had been a little freaked out to envision himself as a potential homewrecker and come to her, asking why she wasn’t upset with _him_ over Scott’s constant attentions and what Steve had perceived as actual flirting.

“Awwww,” Darcy said. “Bucky learned bromance?”

“Princess Shuri has been teaching him slang and stuff,” Steve said. “Sent me a meme this mornin.’ You know what a Grumpy Cat is?”

“That’s adorable,” Scott said, sounding a little awestruck.

“They are here,” Wanda announced suddenly. She could hear thoughts once people were within a certain range.

“Verified,” Tony said via comms. “Grey sedan, pulling into the parking lot in three seconds.”

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Darcy said.

“We let him go in, we follow, you stay in the car,” Steve said.

“Boo!” Darcy said. “I wanna have fun, too.”

 

They watched as Brock and Jack strolled inside. “Wow,” Luis said over comms, “your ex is very good-looking, Miss Itty Bitty!”

“For a sonofabitch,” Sam muttered.

“Yes,” Nat and Wanda both said.

“He’s lost a little weight,” Darcy commented, as she looked through her binoculars, “probably because I’m not making him cupcakes.”

“He does miss those,” Wanda said.

“Which ones?” Darcy asked, curious. He would never tell her his favorite, insisting they were all equally good.

“The ones with chocolate, coconut, and pecans? I do not know the name,” Wanda said.

“German Chocolate,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Luis, Steve, and Sam said at once.

“You made him German Chocolate Cupcakes?” Scott asked, sounding slightly offended.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I thought he like the Amaretto Hot Chocolate ones best, though.”

“I’m trying not to pout right now, but it’s really difficult,” Scott said.

“Suck it up, Tiny Tim,” Tony called over comms. “At least she lives in your zip code!” In the back of the SUV, Pietro started to laugh and Wanda elbowed him.

  


***

Inside the massage center, a shirtless Brock was relaxing as Herb the boa constrictor eased across his shoulders. There were four snakes draped across him. “Oh, man, Jack, I miss snakes!” Brock said. Jack was on the other side of the door. He peered in.

“Good mate,” Jack said. He could see that Brock was unarmed. The supervising therapist-slash-snake-wrangler was in the bathroom.

“You never used to be this afraid of the snakes before,” Brock said.

“I knew your snakes, I don’t know them snakes,” Jack lied.

“Good point, good point,” Brock said. Jack closed the door and texted Steve. _It’s go time._

 

The door to the massage room opened slowly. Brock had his eyes closed. “Rumlow, get up slowly and no one will get hurt,” the voice said. It sounded like Captain America. Brock shook off sleep.

“Cap?” he said, jolting up when he realized that Steve Rogers was standing in the doorway. The snake on his back wiggled. “Jack! Jack!” Brock yelled.

“He won’t get hurt, either!” Sam Wilson called from the hallway. He was pretending to hold Jack hostage as part of their ruse.

“You assholes,” Brock said. With surprising quickness, he launched himself at Steve, still dangling snakes. It was oddly Medusa like, Steve thought. He didn’t want to hurt the animals with his shield in the small room. He deflected Rumlow’s blow and let the other man skid into the hallway. Several of the snakes fell off his back.

“Holy shit,” Sam said, reflexively moving backwards with Jack as a fake human shield.

“You let him go,” Brock said, carefully picking up the snakes and draping them on his shoulders. They hissed. Behind Brock, Steve raised his eyebrows at the other two men, looking quizzical.

 _Hit him with the shield?_ Steve mouthed.

“What’s going on, Cap?” Tony said over comms.

“We got an unarmed man covered in snakes!” Sam said.

“Duh,” Tony said. “That’s why I’m not going in there.”

“Now, Rumlow,” Steve said soothingly. “Let the nice lady who owns those snakes take them and go quietly.”

“Cap, are you getting a case of PETA?” Tony said over comms.

“You called PETA!” Brock yelled, whirling on Steve and advancing towards him. “You did this! You took my snakes!” He’d overheard Tony.

Natasha emerged from an adjoining room and took a running leap at Rumlow’s neck. Unfortunately, her usual thigh-hold did not account for alarmed snakes. She slipped backwards and cursed in Russian, barrel-rolling into another massage room. Someone inside screamed. Steve finally threw his shield at Rumlow’s head, but Brock ducked and Sam and Jack had to leap aside. “Well, this is some shit,” Sam muttered, as Steve and Rumlow began having some sort of weird hand-to-hand fight in the hallway. The snakes were clearly agitated.

“Too right,” Jack said. “Drag me outside, see if he follows?” There was an exit behind them.

“Hey, Rumlow! I got your boy,” Sam called. Rumlow turned and made an enraged sound as Sam and Jack disappeared through the emergency exit and an alarm began to sound. He charged at Sam, pursued by Steve and Natasha. Trailing behind them was the confused and upset owner of the snakes, Karen the therapist.

 

Brock hit the door and had run several steps into the parking lot when he realized who was standing outside. He skidding to a stop and blinked in surprise. “Darcy?” he said, a smile crossing his face. Sam and Jack were ten feet to her left.

“You got out of the car!” Scott called over comms. He was hovering on an ant, tiny-sized, and slightly below Tony’s airspace. Wanda and Pietro were hiding in reserve, since Brock didn’t know they’d defected to the Avengers yet.

“Duh,” Tony said, landing a few feet behind Rumlow. “She always gets out of the car.” Everyone had frozen, staring at Brock and Darcy.

“Can someone give me my snakes?” Karen said. “I will call the police!”

“I want you to give Karen her snakes,” Darcy told Brock sternly. He was still staring at her, open-mouthed.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he said. Darcy kicked over one of her reusable shopping bags from the van and Brock gently deposited each snake in the bag. “I miss you,” he told Darcy. “You look great, baby.”

“I can’t believe he’s calling her baby,” Scott scoffed over comms.

“But she does look good,” Luis said, still in the Mercedes.

“Who are you people?” Karen said, clearly offended.

“I’m Iron Man,” Tony said. “Would you like an autograph?”

“No,” Karen said, “I’ve seen your shoes in _Us Weekly,_ you schmuck. Poor babies. They can probably sense that about you.” She marched inside, making soothing noises at her pets.

“My shoes were alligator!” Tony said to her back.

“Darcy,” Brock said intently, “can we talk?”

“Are you serious right now? You’re trying to get her back during a hostage situation?” Sam yelled.

“He’s got a lot of nerve!” Scott said.

“Never lacked that,” Steve said, sighing. Nat had assumed fighting stance next to him.

“We can talk when you’re in prison,” Darcy said dryly.

“Would you visit?” Brock said.

“No!” Scott yelled. He launched himself at Brock from the air, tackling him to the ground.

“Uh-oh,” Luis said.

“Scott!” Steve and Darcy said together. Brock landed with a thud.

“What the fuck hit me?” Brock said, coughing, from the pavement.

“I’m Ant-Man and that is my girlfriend, you asshole,” Scott said, standing on Brock’s chest. Tiny Scott looked highly offended. Brock frowned. Jack started to laugh in spite of himself.

“Did he just lose it, mate?” he asked Sam.

“Looks like it,” Sam whispered.

“Hi, Scott,” Brock said, waving. 

“Oh for the love of all that is holy,” Darcy said. She marched over, plucked Scott off Brock’s chest,  and put him in her handbag.

“What are you doing?” Scott said, buried amongst her wallet, scarf, mints, and assorted lipsticks and Starbucks cards.

“I’m cuffing him!” Darcy yelled, as she clasped the shackles around Brock’s wrists, having jerked his arms behind his back. He didn’t resist her.

“This brings back memories,” Brock said, grinning up at her. “When was that, Valentine’s Day? With the chocolate sauce?”

“Oooh, tell us!” Tony called, when Darcy frowned.

“Mother--” Scott said from inside her bag.

“Ow, don’t cuff me so tight, baby. You look great,” Brock repeated, looking up at Darcy. “Really great.”

“Language, Scott,” Steve scolded, as they moved in to pick Brock up and carry him to the van. As they dragged him over to the doors that Luis hurried out to open, he looked back at Darcy.

"Can I write you?" he yelled. "My therapist says I need closure. I think it would help!"

"Asshole," Tiny Scott muttered, climbing over her wallet and peering out over the side of her purse. "Can you believe this guy?"


	7. Grand Theft Suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

After Brock went to a special facility pending trial--they were worried a regular county jail wouldn’t hold him, but Jack made sure he was being humanely treated, relatively-speaking--things mostly went back to normal.

 

Well, Avengers normal. 

 

Wanda learned how to make magical fireworks on the lawn for Cassie. There was the alien goo in Cleveland. Tony got a lot of burning rivers jokes out of that one. Scott and Hank Pym argued over new suit mechanics on Skype. Scott caved, of course. Hank was intimidating. Cassie was briefly into bees, which made Tony a little anxious and Scott thrilled. Darcy distributed epi-pens all over the facility, just to be on the safe side. Jack helped her wrangle logistics when they had simultaneous East coast and West coast robots go postal. Darcy made Jack a lot of chocolate chip cookies as a thank you. He was absurdly grateful for cookies and his new (mostly) random-violence-free lifestyle. Wanda started dating a nice guy in grad school at Syracuse. Darcy thought it was sweet that they went to the movies and ate pizza together and Wanda seemed delighted. Steve and Bucky talked on the satellite phone a lot. Then there was a brief attempt at world dictatorship by another guy Tony had pissed off a big corporate event. This time, his name was Kent. Thankfully, Kent’s attempts to Hulk-ify himself went awry. He was sort of just regular steroidy, only yellow-green? “Why does it make you have no neck?” Darcy asked Bruce. They were looking at a video feed of Kent’s last rampage at a gas station in Amarillo. He’d broken a slurpee machine and stolen all their Doritos.

“I have no idea,” Bruce said. “The Other Guy has a neck.”

“You noticed that, too, huh? For some reason, when these homies go all into the ‘roids, the neck, it just goes. It’s like they got a head and they got bigass shoulders. Nothing in between. My cousin, he took some anabolics this one time, he was trying to impress a girl, she told him she liked big guys and he was real little you know? Like maybe he was one hundred and thirty pounds? So he takes this anabolics he gets from some guy and, boom, he looks like Mr. Clean, only younger--” Luis began.

“Yes, thank you, Luis,” Tony said. “Moving on. Cap, how do we kill this guy when we find him?”

“I’m slightly concerned that anything on your suit might make him puffier, Tony,” Steve said dryly.

“His legs look kinda tiny in comparison to his torso,” Jane said.

“Like those guys who skip leg day,” Luis said. “This one time, my cousin was at the gym--”

“Aim Mjolnir at the legs,” Jane told Thor thoughtfully. He was playing Xbox with Sam and Dave, but he nodded. 

“Sweep the leg!” Darcy and Scott yelled in unison.

“Awesome,” Darcy said.

“High-five?” Scott offered.

“It is very lucky you too have found each other,” Natasha said.

“Awwww,” Scott said.

“Because no other woman could tolerate you,” she finished archly.

“Damn, that’s cold,” Dave said.

“But not, I think, inaccurate,” Thor said, before Sam killed his character. There was a sad bonk sound as the onscreen warrior died. “Ohhhh.”

“You see that? I got Thor!” Sam said. “Y’all saw that, right?”

“I saw it,” Steve said.

“I can’t believe you’re playing that instead of Grand Theft Suit: Iron Man Edition,” Tony whined. “It was the best-selling game for four months running. Nationwide.”

“This would not happen in real life. It would be impossible. I could rip off your wings and toss you to the ground like a tiny, tiny butterfly,” Thor said to Sam.

“Sure,” Steve said to Tony.

“The object of the game is to break into any one of my fabulous houses and steal a suit,” Tony said. “Or pick up a supermodel at my parties.”

“Because those are great ideas to give the kids,” Scott said dryly.

“Pietro came up with it,” Tony said. “I thought it was genius.”

 

When everyone had gone off to Amarillo, Darcy wandered back into the lab with Jane. They were going to work for a bit. “Darce, you got another letter from your prison pen pal,” Jane said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. Brock wrote her a letter a week. He was very into therapy now. She opened the envelope and a little glitter and confetti spilled out of the edge. “He’s doing art therapy now,” she told Jane. “He’s done a mixed media of flowers and my face. Look.”

“Oh, that’s not weird or anything,” Jane said sarcastically. “He’s made you a murder collage.”

“It’s not a murder collage, he wished me a Happy National Pancake Day,” Darcy insisted, scanning his letter. “He’s doing good, Jane. Did you know there are HYDRA gangs in prison?”

“Has he made friends?” Jane said archly.

“No, they’re trying to kill him, apparently they’re Strucker loyalists and they’re mad about him freeing Pietro and Wanda. But he promises not to stab anyone in the eye unless first attacked,” Darcy said seriously. Jane snorted.

“Sure,” she said. “Darce?”

“Yeah?” Darcy said.

“Do you realize that two out of three of your most recent boyfriends have spent time in prison?” Jane said.

“Whoops,” Darcy said. “Please don’t tell my mom.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like a good stopping spot for this story, right? If the muse seizes me, I might add more, but it feels like we've come full circle.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a section of Kinda Outta Luck, but it turned comedic on me and I couldn't bear to change it. Heavily, heavily influenced by the crazy villain that Frank Grillo plays in Wolf Warrior 2, who wears camouflage blazers and keeps snakes for no discernible reason: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6sXYefAAolo


End file.
